The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-08-06
XAVIER THIRIAT, THE CRIPPLE
NATURALIST.

XAVIER THIRIAT, THE CRIPPLE
NATURALIST.
In the heart Of the beautiful Vosges
Mountains,-whicha are on the northeast
ern border of France, near Germany and
the Rhine lived, not many years ago,
little boy named Xavier Thiriat. His
parents were poor peasants, like the rest
Of the people in the valley of Cleuris
which was their home. Above their hum
BILE cottage, with its clustering vines and
overshadowing trees, rose gently undu-
lating hill, raising its green fields and
pasture-lands skyward; while, behind
that, again, you could see one mountain
top after another, growing bluer and
bluer as they receded into the distance
and lay like clouds on the horizon. 1t Is
a beautiful country to live in, for any
one who has eyes to see the beauty God
has given to this world of ours.
Xavier was an active, happy little boy,
brimful of life and spirit, delighting in
roaming about the hills, and leaping from
rock to rock like chamois. In one re-
spect he was little different from many,
perhaps from most, boys. He loved all
the beautiful things he saw around him,
the birds that built their nests in the trees
that shaded his home, the lizards and but
terf1ies that darted to and fro among the
bright flowers of the cottage-garden, even
the blossoms themselves, that opened their
eyes and looked brightly up to the sky.
Xavier went to school every day, with
the other children of the neighborhood,
and soon learned to read, write and CT
pher. French, you must remember, was
his native language, so, OF course, he
learned to read Telemdque with much
less trouble than most of us used to find
in following that amiable young man
through his travels. When he was about
nine or ten,-the age at which the chill
dren there were usually confirmed, he
and number of other children of the
same age were sent to attend a catechiz-
ing class at the house of the priest, some
miles away. The priest was rather stern,
and the children were all afraid of him.
One day they were little late, and, in
dread of scolding, were hurrying across
little bridge of rude logs that crossed a
mountain stream, when little girl called
Lille, of whom Xavier was very fond,
slipped and fell into the rapid stream.
Instantly Xavier plunged in after her,
and pulled her safely to the shore; but,
instead of running home as fast as he
could, to get dry, he just went on in his
wet clothes to attend the class.
Poor Xavier His courage and his
thoughtlessness combined cost him dear.
When he awoke next morning, he was in
burning fever, while excruciating pains
were darting through his limbs, and he
tried in VAN to rise. That was the be-
ginning OF long season of acute suff ering.
1t was we'll that, at first, he little dreamed
how long the suffering would last All
through the beautiful, long, summer days.
and then all the time the October SUM-
shine lay bright on the following woods,
and through the short days and long
nights of winter, Xavier lay and bore the
sharp, trying pain and prostrating weak
ness. His poor mother did her best to
nurse him through into health and
strength, but her heart ached for her boy,
when the doctor told her, at last, that he
would never be anything else than help
less invalid. Never could he again cl NIB
the hills, or dart joyously along the
mountain paths, or swim in the brown,
rushing streams. He could never learn
to work for his own livelihood, like other
boys. He must always, all his life, be
taken care of, and helped about, for now
he could not even walk unassisted. It
was bitter trial to the bright, active boy,
who so dearly loved the free, active life of
woods and hillsl Many night he cried
himself to sleep, as he grew old enough to
understand what his life was likely to be.
But his mother taught him that Gods
will for us is best, and that we must sub
NIT patiently to His dealings, even when
they are painful ones. And Xavier tried.
to be patient, and did his best to learn
all that he could still, SO as not to live an
idle and useless life. His kind school
master was very sorry for him, and came
nearly every day to teach him at home,
and he loved to learn; and besides his
study, he learned from his mother and
sister to sew and embroider, which he
could soon do very well, SO that the long
hours began to pass rapidly, instead Of
dragging slowly by as they did at first.
There we're few old books in the house,
and these he read over and over again,
though l am afraid you would find some
OF them rather dull reading. There were
the Book of Psalms and the apocryphal
Book Of Tobit, the Lives of the Saints,
YouDg's Night Thoughts, the History of
Morocco, Ancient Geography, and book